“Are you even listening to me, Masen?”

I catch my name at the end of the sentence and roll my head lazily in the direction of Ange, my PR chick.

She really needs to get laid; the woman’s always bitching about something.

“Well?” she demands as our eyes meet.

I shrug. I don’t know what the hell she’s going on about. I don’t really care either.

“He’s not even listening to me,” she hisses, turning her attention to Chuck, my manager. “I don’t know how you’ve lasted this long with him.”

I yawn. A barely concealed threat to quit, again.

I debate telling her to just go, but then I’d have to hire someone else, and that sounds like a lot of work.

Chuck shoots me a look that tells me he needs me to help him the fuck out.

If it were anyone else, I’d probably ignore them, but I’ve got a soft spot for Chuck. He’s the only person in this building that still sees me as a person and not just someone they can make a shit load of money from.

“I’m listening,” I drawl. “Talk.”

She scowls at me, straightens her already perfectly put together folder and starts talking.

“We need to sort out your image; going to rehab has really hit your sales hard.”

I interject, “I don’t think the rehab was the problem.”

She clicks her tongue. Nothing gets a PR chick riled up faster than referring to a PR nightmare situation, and shit, do I have a few of those under my belt.

“Regardless,” she replies tightly, “your sales are down, and your reputation has gone to the dogs.”

I snort out a bitter laugh. To the dogs. She talks like she’s old as fuck when I doubt she’s much more than ten years older than me. I’ve slept with women older than her.

“I’m the prick of the year, I get it. What do you want me to do about it?”

“Clean up your act,” she replies swiftly.

I raise a brow at her. “I thought that’s what I was doing in rehab.”

Her eyes soften, but only a fraction. I know deep down she’s thankful as hell that I’ve kicked the bottle, but I’ve made her life a living hell for the past two years, aged her at least ten years I reckon; it’s going to take more than a thirty-day programme to get in her good graces.

“It’s going to take a bit more effort than that I’m afraid.”

I rake my hand over my face. Of course it is. Nothing is ever enough – it’s always more. “What are you thinking?”

I’m not sure I care what it is, and I’m in no way indicating I’m about to actually follow through with any of it, I just want to get out of here so I can light up a smoke already. It’s the only bad habit I was allowed to keep.

“We’re going to start booking you in for public appearances again… events, red carpets, that kind of thing. We need the media and your peers to see Masen Lennox, sober.”

“Whatever.” I wave my hand at her. “Is that it?”

She shakes her head. “No. Chuck and I think it would benefit you greatly, publicly and privately, if you had a woman in your life.”

I smirk at her. “What makes you think there aren’t women in my life?”

“Woman.” she snaps at me. “Singular. A girlfriend, not a bunch of bed-hopping hoes.”

My mouth twitches in amusement. I’ve never heard her say the word ‘hoes’.

“I don’t do girlfriends.”

She looks to Chuck for help and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, pinning me with his stare. “Look, I’m going to level with you, kid, the label still wants to drop you.”

Well shit.

My expression remains the same – static, unflinching, but he nods, knowing that I understand how serious this is.

I thought rehab would have placated them, apparently, I was wrong.

“Either you clean up your act, or you’re gone.”

“When we mentioned that you’d settled down with a nice girl, it really seemed to go a long way,” Ange cuts in.

I groan. “You’ve already told them I’ve got a chick.”

I’m fucked. They’ve fucked me over with this. They’ve backed me into a corner, and they know it.

I don’t do girlfriends and I’m not about to start now, so if I want to keep my career intact, it looks like I’m going to have to pretend.

Chuck glares at her before turning back to me, his mind already in line with mine.

“We can hire a pro – an escort or something, string it out for a few months, maybe even a year and pay her well enough that she doesn’t breathe a word to anyone,” he offers.

“And what happens when one of her previous clients recognises her? Takes it public? That might be worse than getting shitfaced and spewing on the red carpet.”

He grimaces.

He’s right, it probably wouldn’t be worse, but whatever.

“We’ll bring someone in from out of town, hell, out of country if we have to.”

“Just stop,” I tell him. “Let me think for a god damn minute.”

My gaze wanders for the first time, through the huge glass walls and out into the offices surrounding us.

They’re really doing a great job of making me feel closed in; people from my label are literally all around us.

Producers, assistants, secretaries, interns… they’re all here, and they’re probably all judging me too.

Not that I give a shit. As long as I can make music, I don’t give a shit about any of that.

I linger on a girl with long brown hair; she’s delivering coffee to some record label douche.

He waves her away with his hand after she sits the cup down in front of him, and I don’t miss the ‘fuck you’ look plastered across her face. I definitely don’t miss when she raises her middle finger at the back of his head before rushing away, her fine ass swaying.

“If I’m going to do this, I want to choose the girl,” I bargain.

“Within reason,” Ange replies. “She can’t look like you found her on the street corner.”

“We do this my way,” I say, ignoring her insult to my taste in women.

“We’ll see.”

That’s the best I’m going to get out of this uptight bitch.

I nod my head slowly as I consider it. I can pretend. I can play make believe for a few months to save my career – the only thing I still care about.

“Alright,” I reply, my eyes still watching the brunette. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent. I’ll start compiling a list of possible candidates,” Ange says, her relieved voice coming from up above me as she gets to her feet. Always so efficient.

“No need,” I say, twisting back to face the two of them.

Chuck frowns and Ange’s brows knit together. “But you said…”

“I said, I’ll choose the girl.”

“Okay…” Ange replies, still confused. “Well then, where is she?”

I turn my shoulder and point to the harmless looking brunette who appears to come with a side of sass. “Right there. I want her.”